


Car Crash Hearts

by angelofthedamnlord



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: First Kiss, I Promise it Ends Happy, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, I'M NOT A COMPLETELY TERRIBLE PERSON, Love Confession, M/M, Patrick whump basically, Patrick's kinda in a coma, Pete's 23 and Patrick is 18 so it's not underage lol, TTTYG era, and Pete has a breakdown, does anyone read these?, idk how to tag this, shut up author
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-16
Updated: 2015-10-16
Packaged: 2018-04-26 15:31:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5010091
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/angelofthedamnlord/pseuds/angelofthedamnlord
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It had been two and a half weeks, and Pete couldn't stand the silence anymore. He needed him there, not in that damn hospital bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Car Crash Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> I'm a freshman in high school I should have been sleeping last night but instead I wrote this. I apologize if it's a train wreck, it was written in a spur of caffeine and wild manic inspiration. And mistakes are my own, I suck at editing things lol. Hope you enjoy (please don't kill me for constantly hurting Patrick)!

Pete stares blankly at his bowl, not even pretending to be hungry anymore. It's been two and a half weeks. How could people have moved on so quickly? How could they pretend that a kid, an eighteen year old boy, hadn't been in a terrible crash not even three weeks earlier? Pete wants his front door to open. He wants to hear a backpack slump onto the floor and shoes being kicked onto the mat, followed by a cheerful greeting and retelling of his school day. He wants to smell orange shampoo drifting off of a warm figure. To hear a foot tapping out a constant song.

But he can't have any of that. Not without him. Not when he's gone...

But he's not fucking gone, Pete admonishes himself, it's only been two and a half weeks. There's still hope... but the Stumps are weighing the options. They're considering pulling the plug on him, giving in to the coma, the fucking curse that had been haunting them all for nearly a month. And if they decide to...

Pete's throat clenches tightly, and taking another bite of the crappy, dollar store macaroni and cheese is suddenly the worst thing he could possibly do. His small apartment in the townhouse is too quiet without his voice, without the songs off of their brand fucking new album (ironically titled Take This To Your Grave, Pete thinks bitterly) being practiced in his cramped little basement. Andy and Joe haven't touched their instruments, none of them have. Not until he gets back, because he WILL. GET. BACK.

He hopes.

Pete shoves himself away from his kitchen table, grabbing his jacket off the back of the opposite chair (his chair). The man practically flies out of the apartment, stopping only to lock his door. He doesn't look back after that, at the house that doesn't feel like a home without the other boy there. He considers taking his car, but recoils sharply at the thought. Those damned machines are the reason he's not there. Pete zips up his jacket and pops the collar, shoving his hands in his pockets as he starts walking.

The brisk October wind nips at his nose, drying Pete's eyes whenever a tear threatens to form. He travels along the back streets, where nobody walking by will bump into the twenty-three year old with glassy brown eyes. He keeps his gaze trained on the ground. He wants to hum or something, to block out the sound of the everyday death traps that drive by every now and again, but he knows that every tune he hears in his head will have been sung by him. He walks in silence for nearly an hour.

He's almost there. Pete starts running, trees filling and focusing in his bleary eyes. The forest near the edge of town had been their place for two years. The one place where the two boys would run off to constantly, where they could shut out the world and just be best friends. Their sanctuary. This was the first time Pete would ever enter alone. He ducks his head and sprints in to lessen that blow.

As soon as Pete brushes past the first uneven rows of trees, he realizes his horrible mistake. All he can hear is his voice, all he can smell is orange shampoo, all he can see are blue-grey eyes and all he can feel is the overwhelming presence of him. It makes Pete want to throw up, but the man pushes on. Rushing deeper into the woods, trying to find that sanctuary, that peace, his voice gets louder. Pete's own heavy breathing is blocked out as song after song floods through the maze of trees. Singing every song he'd ever loved. Every song he'd written for that astonishing, melodic soul voice to bring to life. It comes at him from all sides, assaulting him. Pete's knees weaken, and he nearly loses his footing. That voice is screaming at him, clawing at his fucking insides, and he trips, choking on a sob.

"Nononononooo..." Pete whimpers, forcing himself to keep his balance and run forwards. But there's those blue-grey eyes he hasn't seen in so long, orange shampoo basically forming a bubble around his head so he can't smell anything else, and song after fucking song being pumped into a metaphorical needle, only to be injected into his bloodstream, taking him over completely. He falls to his knees at the base of a tree, clutching at his hair like a lifeline and lets himself say his name for the first time since that first phone call from the hospital, with Mrs. Stump telling him about the accident in a strained voice. In fact, he screams it, and birds fly off in every direction, scattering to get away from the emotional whirlwind on the ground.

And for the first time, Pete Wentz lets himself cry as he screams that name, that name that means the fucking world and more to him.

"PATRICK!" The man screeches, hoarse voice silencing the singing. The forest goes quiet around him and he breaks down, rocking back onto his heels as he buries his face in his hands. His quiet sobs echo against the trees, and he sits. Cries. Waits to be woken from this bad dream, this hell that had become his life for the past two and a half weeks. No animals stir. The wind doesn't blow. The voice is gone, along with the orange shampoo and blue-grey eyes, but that eerie sense that he's there with him in the woods is enough to make Pete take a deep breath and collect himself. His cries quiet and he listens closely, not lifting his face from its hiding place behind his cold, shaky hands. Then one voice comes back. Only one. And it's right in front of him, so warm, so familiar, so soothing.

"Tonight the headphones will deliver you the words that I can't say..." He sings the words quietly, beautiful voice thick with I shed tears. Pete raises his head slightly in disbelief and blurry feet are in his line of vision. He's right in front of him. Patrick is standing right in front of him singing Homesick At Space Camp and Pete doesn't care if he's high or dreaming or if he's fucking dead because Patrick is there. He makes eye contact with the boy, noting that his eyes are black, no colour at all. Patrick stops abruptly, shock and confusion contorting his features. "You can see me?" Pete can't say anything, he just nods. He takes a second, stares at the image before him and finds his voice.

"'Trick... you're alive..." Pete breathes. A grin breaks out on his tear-streaked face and he leaps forward to hug his legs. But he's met with dead leaves and soil. He passed right through Patrick. His face falls and twists into a frown. Patrick sighs.

"Sort of." The boy says. Pete's brow furrows and he rolls over slowly to look up at Patrick.

"What do you mean?" He asks. Patrick shoves his hands into his pockets, he's still wearing what he was the night of the crash. Pete's heart clenches again and for a moment he feels like crying again. But then Patrick speaks.

"I'm still... I'm still in the coma. I'm alive, yeah. But not for much longer, Pete. You're the first person who's heard or seen me. Nobody else can. My parents are gonna turn off my life support tomorrow morning. I had to come back here one more time." Pete's jaw drops, and fresh tears well in his eyes. He swallows and pipes up.

"What?" The man croaks. Patrick looks like he's about to blow a fuse, Pete can tell he's oblivious to his shock. He keeps going, as I he's just unloading his school day on Pete.

"Yeah! And I've tried everything! I've shouted at the top of my lungs, tried breaking things, tried to wake the fuck up but nothing's worki-" Patrick rants, but he cuts himself off as his image starts to flicker like a candle. Putting his hands in front of himself, he takes a breath and stops blurring around the edges. When he opens his eyes, Pete's staring at his knees, and a stray tear rolls down his cheek, skipping from trail to trail that its predecessors left. Patrick stops and kneels in front of the older man. He lifts his hand to wipe away the tear, but it fizzles around the edges and he drops it again. Pete sniffs, wiping it away with the back of his hand.

"So they've decided to pull the plug?" Pete says after a moment. Patrick nods in defeat. Pete rolls onto his knees and forces himself up. "I have to go stop them, 'Trick." The man says. He starts to run out of the woods. Patrick runs after him and jumps in front of him.

"Pete, you can't!" The younger man shouts. Mixed emotions punch Pete in the gut and he halts. "

What, so I just sit around and let the lo...my best friend die?" The man has to refrain from saying 'the love of my life', and mentally berates himself for it. Patrick's brow furrows.

"No! But you can't exactly waltz into a hospital room and tell my mom and dad that Patrick's ghost told you that you shouldn't fucking turn off the machines so you should listen to him! That's not gonna work, Peter!" Patrick replies, flickering around the edges again. Patrick exhales slowly through his nose and returns to his solid statement after a moment.

Pete stares at Patrick, taking in every inch of his slightly transparent body. God, he's so fucking happy he's alive, but at the same time he's not alive at all. The man in feels like he should be running from the woods, back to his house where he'll deal with Patrick's death tomorrow in solitude, chalking this mess up to a nightmare. But it's real and Patrick is really in front of him and Pete wants to hug him, to punch him, to spin him around in circles until their both giggling like kids, to... to kiss him. With all the desperation of a drowning man. He knows he'd be completely whole, he'd feel completely alive... Pete suddenly puts two and two together and a light turns on in his head.

"You do that fizzle thingie whenever you get too angry, right?" Pete asks. Patrick nods, confused.

"Yeah, every time I do it, it feels like I'm getting a little closer to dying," Patrick mutters. "What about it?" Pete can't help but smile softly.

"What if you did the opposite? What if you got so happy, you felt like you were closer to living?" Patrick's eyes narrow and he crosses his arms.

"I haven't had much reason to be happy for the past few weeks, Wentz." Patrick grumbles. His pose, his tone, everything is so normal that Pete has to laugh at it. Patrick scowls.

"Well, I guess I'll just have to give you a reason, then. We're burning daylight, here." Patrick's expression doesn't change. Pete's smile wilts into something more serious. "'Trick, I have to try." The older man says.

He plops down on the soft dirt, motioning for the other boy to do the same. He begins telling Patrick stories about the crazy things he and Joe have done, reminding him of hilarious moments they'd shared, about how their band is going to 'sail the fucking skies like no other has before, Pattycakes', earning a sneer from Patrick, but there's no venom behind it. For a while, it just feels like another trip into the woods for them, sharing secrets and laughing. Patrick's demeanour brightens with every tale, and he actually laughs after a story about how Joe and a few of his other friends once got into his parents' liquor cabinet. They got so drunk that they thought Joe was missing, and they all proceeded to look for him for a half hour, including Joe himself. Pete thinks it's the most beautiful thing he's ever heard, Patrick's laugh. Well, the second, right after Patrick's singing voice.

The sun is just setting behind the wall of trees when Patrick sighs. He wraps his arms around his knees and pulls them tight to his chest. Pete frowns.

"What's wrong?" He asks. The younger man gives him a sad smile.

"It didn't work. I'm still here, I don't feel any different." Patrick replies. The wind blows Pete's hair around as they sit in silence for a moment. Patrick's hair doesn't move. Finally, Patrick shifts to stand up. "I guess..." The boy trails off. So many unspoken words bleed out into the cool evening air around them, like an open wound that cannot be stitched. Pete swallows.

"If you even dare to say goodbye, you'd better fucking rethink that desicion." Pete grits out. He looks over at Patrick and scoots as close as he can without passing through part of the boy's body. "Patrick, you cannot die. You have so much to life for, you're eighteen for fuck's sake! I don't care if your parents think I'm crazy, I need to go and stop them from turning off the machines." The two stare at each other for what could have been hours or what could have been seconds. Patrick's eyes are filled with unshed tears and he shuffles his sneaker along the ground. The soil doesn't move.

"Why?" Patrick whispers brokenly. Pete leans in until their faces are only mere inches apart.

"Because I love you." The forest is suddenly filled with a bright light. It glares against the silhouettes of the trees and Pete has to shield his eyes. Patrick laughs, and it sounds like bells. The scent of orange shampoo is back and so are his blue-grey eyes. He seems like he's ready to sing, ready to cry out in joy or spin around until he couldn't tell up from down. He seems so happy and... alive. Alive!

"Finally," Patrick breathes. Pete reaches out to cup the side of the boy's face and finds Patrick to be solid and there. Cold, yes, but he's tangible. And he's going to live. Patrick is gonna fucking live. A tear rolls down Pete's cheek and Patrick brushes it away with his thumb, holding back his own tears.

"Finally what?" Pete chokes out with a soft laugh. Patrick full on grins and it's the best thing Pete has or is ever going to see.

"Finally I get to do this." And then Patrick's lips are on his and it's fucking perfect. It only lasts for a second, but it's the best damn second of Pete's life. Then, Patrick fades out along with the intense light. Pete is left alone in their forest, kneeling in the dead leaves with tears of joy streaming down his face. He looks up at the canopy of red, orange and yellow overhead and let's out a long whoop.

"HE'S GONNA LIVE!" Pete cries, hopping to his feet. He has to get home, to get to the hospital. He has to go and see his Patrick. Just as he brushed the dirt off of his pants, his cell phone rang in his back pocket. He flipped it open and cleared his throat. "Hello?" Pete asked, trying to sound normal. A choked-up voice is on the other end.

"Pete, this is Patrick's mom, Patricia. You need to get down here. He just woke up and the first thing he said was your name."

Pete runs home and for the first time in two and a half weeks, he hops into his car. The ride to the hospital smells like orange shampoo and looks like blue-grey eyes and sounds like Homesick At Space Camp... And it feels like home, like love.

Like Patrick.

*****


End file.
